


At the End of the World

by lemonsonmars



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Ghost of You - My Chemical Romance (Song)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Ghost Of You Video, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsonmars/pseuds/lemonsonmars
Summary: "And everywhere I look I see him writhe, that pretty boy I killed."-L.M Montgomery, The Aftermath. . .Gerard Way witnesses the death of his brother and deals with the trauma.DO NOT POST THIS TO WATTPAD. I have a wattpad account and if I want to post it on there I will do it myself.
Kudos: 3





	At the End of the World

The night is quiet. The summer wind blows through the barracks, giving Camp Hope a peaceful feel. The army base is known for its calming atmosphere. Soldiers returned from battle and spending a brief furlough at the camp sleep, some quietly and others haunted by the dreams of every horror they witnessed on the front lines. 

Barrack 17 is filled with young soldiers. None of them have seen first-hand the terrors of battle. None but one. 

He lies on his back in the bunk he was assigned to. He is a sergeant returned from battle, but He didn't ask for a nicer place to sleep. Even if that had been proper, He wouldn't have given a damn. 

Gerard's hazel eyes are fixed on the iron frame of the bed above him. His eyes don't see the darkness of the barracks. He can't hear the snores of his boarding companions. He can barely hear at all over the deafening boom of exploding mines and the snap of gunfire. Bursts of fire paint His vision. Yellows and oranges. And red. The reds of blood, spilled guts and broken bodies. 

Blood. Blood everywhere, as far as His young eyes can see. The heaps of bone and mangled debris, barely recognizable as they once were. Human. 

Blood soaks the wet sand beneath his feet. It dyes his uniform dark crimson. And He can't tell if it's His own or the blood of other men. He wants to cry out, to tear the filthy clothes off Himself and scratch and scratch at His skin until He is clean. He is so dirty. 

And the scene that spreads out before His eyes is heart wrenching. It comes so quickly that He can't tell if it's a nightmare or horrific reality. 

He flies across the battlefield, sliding into a ditch beside Iero. Sand flies up into His eyes. The barbed wire above His head shines red with blood. His muscles tense as He grips the gun between His fingers. It is wet. Slippery. He can barely prop the thing up over the top of the trench before turning to gaze back to the American soldiers flooding the beach. 

They come up like whales at high tide. And among them is His own brother. Young Mikey, who carried himself so carefully that one would wonder how they could draft such a beautiful soul. Barely old enough to be a man yet the look in his eyes tells you he is wise beyond his years. The boy would never disobey orders, especially from his brother. 

And so, Mikey crouches behind a piling of logs, long legs tucked under him. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cradles his rifle close to him. He is ready. Mikey moves. 

Gerard tenses. His mind is spinning. No, no, no. This is all wrong. He’s calculated the timing wrong. Mikey is moving at the wrong time. There isn't an opening; isn't time. 

Gerard's throat burns. He lurches forward. His brother's name flashes from his mouth like water bursting from a broken dam. Iero grabs his arm, pulling him back. 

It all happens so fast. One moment Mikey is sprinting across the beach like a lone bird, men falling all around him, taken out by the sniper across the battlefield. The next moment he has fallen. He lays motionless and yet trembling with anguish on the dirty ground. 

Gerard can't feel his legs. His stomach disappears. He wants to vomit. His mind is shaking, trembling. This isn't real, it's not real, his head repeats. His heart pounds. 

Mikey writhes on the ground, crimson blood soaking his uniform. He opens his mouth in a scream of agony which is lost under the screeches of violence. Every muscle in Gerard's body tenses. He runs forward, trips and like an elastic band, is snapped back towards the trench. Iero and Bryar have an arm around him each, pulling him back. Pinning him down. 

Blood flies everywhere. Chaos explodes over the beach. But Gerard can only see his brother, lying there in agony as the medic clumsily unravels a roll of bandages. Gerard screams. He shouts until his voice is hoarse, and still, he can't stop. He has to get to Mikey. Like he saved him from so many fistfights back home, he has to help him now. 

He no longer feels the blood caking his hands. He can only see his brother dying before his eyes. And there is nothing he can do to save him. 

It is only when Iero comes to him, bloody and battered but alive to announce their victory, that Gerard realizes what has passed. His brother is dead. Gone forever. 

Gone are the days when they would traverse down the streets of the city they grew up in, stopping by the market to pick up a couple bottles of soda. They will never laugh over a pointless joke ever again. They will never sit together in the pitch darkness of a winter storm and tell heroic stories to keep each other occupied. They will never spend a late night being stupid and staying up until sunrise for the pure sake of it. Those days have blown away like a pipe of a distant battle cry. 

Gerard Way has lost his brother and confidant. He has lost his best friend. He feels isolated and alone, and will remain that way until the day he dies. 

And the ghosts will always catch him.


End file.
